


Iceberg ahead

by Imandra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Caring Dean, Cas is on the road to recovery, Castiels Iceberg is important, Celine Dione might play a role, Don't ask for the turkey, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Castiel, mouthwash might also play a role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imandra/pseuds/Imandra
Summary: Minty mouthwash, a turkey on warpath, Celine Dione and a very large, well, Iceberg are necessary to help Dean teach a very important lesson: You are worthy. You are cherished. And you definitely are allowed to take.Or:Dean helps Cas through his first, gravely sickness after Metatron stole his grace and gets something in return he never dreamt of."Deans brain is sinking like the frigging Titanic, a red alert flashes before his eyes, and he's pretty sure he hears Celine Dion singing somewhere around him.And my, this whole Iceberg and Titanic picture gets a complete new level of meaning when Cas hip snaps forward and Dean feels a not-so-little-Cas rubbing through several layers of fabric."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and Guten Tag!
> 
> Welcome to my second story which took literally years to finish. Sigh. Again, I have to emphasize that I'm actually German and that this story isn't beta-ed. So please apologize any mistakes and feel free to send me a message with improvement suggestions :o)
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope I can entertain you for some moments and make you smile.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P. S. In case you are a bit confused: I changed the title ^^

„You want to drown me in mouthwash?” 

Dean turns his head just enough to get a glimpse of naked feet staring accusingly at him. The owner of the offended limbs stands in the door frame and although he isn't lifting his head high enough to check, he has no doubt, that the rest is as grumpy as every single toe. He chuckles faintly and looks back to the bath tub as he closes the faucet. 

“This isn’t mouthwash. It’s just a bath supplement with herbal essences.” 

“Dean, it _smells_ like mouthwash!” 

“I can ensure you, it is not.” With a patience Dean usually only reserves for little children or mortally wounded, he checks the water temperature a last time and finally gets up, turning to the source of joy. 

“But it _looks_ like—“ 

“Could you _please_ stop driving me insane with your aversion of dental hygiene?” Suddenly Dean feels remorse that he choked off Sams tries to teach him Yoga, because he really could use some breathe-through-the-pain here. Heaven may help (or – on a second thought – maybe better not), Cas even _sounds_ like a pouting child! 

“My dental hygiene is unprecedented. I just don’t like—“ 

“—mouthwash. Yes, I get it. I think you subtly mentioned it once or twice.” 

With arms akimbo Dean shakes his head and grins, but when he is taking in the picture of the disheveled man in front of him, the smile on his lips tightens like the feeling in his chest. 

Cas is pale like the bathroom tags he is leaning on, sporting the unruliest fifty/fifty hair in history. Fifty percent looks like it tried to flee from its sweaty fate in every direction only possible while the other fifty percent gave up, committed hairy-kiri and plaster now flat on his head. 

It would have been adorable, if the rest of the ex-angel didn’t look so miserable. 

Dull eyes are circled with dark rings, which is astonishing considering the fact that he slept the better part of the last three days. But on the other hand, it was a cold and fever induced sleep, which Dean knows firsthand wasn't very restful. 

Usually, you woke up feeling worse for wear with the unpleasant sensation of a deceased skunk on your tongue, while the relatives assembled in your head for a wild mourning ceremony New Orleans style. The one with the marching band torturing your cerebellum. 

If the mood of the ex-angel is any evidence, it is exact the way he feels currently. 

Dean snorts in sympathy and is suddenly overwhelmed from the urge to take the few steps towards the man, whose whole posture is hunched, as if standing drained the little energy he gathered since his fever finally broke the evening before. 

His movements are skeptically followed by blue eyes, usually an epitome of energy and alertness but now dimmed with grey mist which downgrades the ocean blue to a tired puddle. Every fiber of Cas radiates exhaustion, but Dean withstands the temptation to grab him by his elbow to steady him. Not that he doesn't _want_ to. He would never admit it, but the last days scared the shit out of him and there had been moments where Dean thought, he would lose Cas to the inhumanly fever burning through his weakened body. Where Cas’ temperature spiked so dramatically that he didn't even had the strength to thrash anymore. He just laid there. White like the sheet under him except of his angry red cheeks, his breath so shallow that Dean had to hold a little mirror to Cas’ mouth, just to be sure that he was still there. With him. 

So yeah, after all these sleepless nights, the fear and unnerving waiting for Cas to finally make some steps down the road to recovery, Dean nearly craved touching his friend. Convincing himself again and again, that he wasn't dreaming. That he didn't finally fell asleep due to exhaustion, abandoning Cas when he needed him most. Waking up to a lost battle. 

Dean takes a shuddering breath, shakes his head unconsciously. So yeah, as desperately as he wants to touch Cas, to protect him, _hell_ , to mother hen him – he doesn’t. 

He knows better than to give in to this need, because Cas has never looked more vulnerable, fragile. _Human_. There was nothing Dean could do against this at this moment, except for one thing: Leave him his dignity. 

Dean swallows hard and avoids his friends’ stare he feels on himself and tests the water temperature. Again. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you off your feet before gravity wins and you fall flat on your ass.” 

Cas huffs. “Yeah, because drowning in mouth—“ he stops and reconsiders, waving vaguely to the turquoise colored water “— _herbal essences_ is so much better.” 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_ ,” Dean groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to scrape together the rest his patience. “Would you please stop it? If I hear any further complaining about mouthwash or herbal essences or _freaking fucking_ mint I will drown you myself!” 

“Take a shot at it,” Cas growls and lifts his head, his jaw clenched stubbornly while his eyes speak volumes, promising never ending smiting sessions if his opponent is insane enough to continue his course. 

And what should Dean say? The last days had taken its toll on him also, so … Y _eah_ , _he is!_

“Are you challenging me?” Dean stands up, strolls casually towards his disheveled friend and invades personal space, their noses close enough to feel the warmth of the angel’s skin. A small smirk flitters across Deans lips. “I must warn you. I have _real_ mouthwash at hand and I’m not afraid to use it!” 

A deep gnarl escapes Cas’ throat, signalizing his sudden loss of any humor he ever developed. "You impertinent, dirty little—" 

Dean laughs quietly, interrupting the ex-angels rumbling. “Aw, come on. Relax! We are talking about a nice, warm bath and not your execution." 

"Just go on and it will be _your_ —" 

"Sure. I'm shaking like a leaf. Now stop ruffling your feathers like a turkey on war dance and move before the water is too cold.” 

“You know that I will give you a caning for this insolence?” 

“Yeah, you know, this would actually be more intimidating if you weren’t clinging at the towel rack like a weak kitten.” 

“First a turkey and now a kitten?” Cas snorts. “What comes next? Maybe a dog, because you expect me to follow your orders without any query?” 

“Actually, a _fish_ would be nice, because it likes water. You get it, huh? Fish?” Dean wiggles his eyebrows. “And now, without any further delay: Jump in and enjoy!” With an inviting motion he points at the water. 

"You mean, enjoy it like _you_ would, if the roles were reversed?" 

"What?" Dean blinks dumbfounded, transfixed in the spot with his arms still in the air. 

"For someone who pays so much attention to his own _personal space_ —" Cas finger quotes the phrase with only one hand as the other still holds on to the wall as support "—you surprisingly don't respect mine. Why is it that you expect me to surrender to your care when you would never even take it into consideration for yourself?" He tilts his head and watches Dean with an intensive stare that sends a tingle right through Deans spine into his stomach, leaving a strange, fluttering sensation. The hunter swallows and lets his arms falling limp to his sides. 

"This is something different," he murmurs after a moment of silence and flinches slightly when he sees Cas’ face darken. 

“I’m sure you think it is,” Cas replies through clenched teeth, throws Dean a long last look and finally begins to shuffle slowly to the tub. 

Deans purses his lips, partly from confusion and partly because he isn’t sure, Cas will make it to the other side. Cas was too weak to leave the bed for the last days and letting him stand for so long right after his fever broke was surely not the wisest thing to do. No wonder he paled considerably with every passing minute, even if he still holds his head high with a dignity only an angel, even a retired one, could manage. 

The next second Dean is tempted to reconsider the dignity part, as Castiel suddenly grabs the waistband of his shirt and pulls it laborious over his head, only to lose his balance so thoroughly that it is a testament to Deans trained reflexes, that the angel doesn't fall head over heels in the tub to finally face the feared drowning in the mint colored water. 

"Easy there," Dean mumbles in the sticky, black hair, clinging the slightly shivering body to himself. "I got you." 

It is not his intention, but for a precious little moment he closes his eyes, breathing in Cas' odor. And yeah, he is sweaty and not exactly fresh as a mountain spring, but beneath the smell of the retreating sickness lies a warm scent of earth after summer rain. Of freshly felled timber and something that reminds him of the smell of skin after a day out in the sun. 

"I know," Cas’ soft voice breathes suddenly against his neck, bringing Dean back to the here and now. "But I really wish you would finally accept someone taking care of _you_." 

It takes everything he has to convince himself that he won't suffer a heart attack in the next minutes, although the rapid beating in his chest is giving its best shot to prove otherwise. 

_Taking care._ Dean heard the phrase so often but accepted years ago, still being a child with baby fat in his face, that it never meant him. 

He was made for _protecting_ , with everything he had, everything he was. Mainly Sam, sometimes his father and always a lot of strangers, who often didn't even know that their life hung by a thread. 

Over the years, the roles manifested itself and to be honest, Dean isn't sure he is even able to switch to the receiving end anymore. Or if he even should give it a try. Some areas of his soul are so dried out, that he doesn’t even feel thirst anymore. Thirst for safety. Giving up some of the crushing responsibility. The feeling to belong to someone, somewhere. 

This _drought_ is familiar, a constant companion and he is simply afraid, that a single drop of the attention he lacked of all of his life could ignite a need inside him, he's not sure he can control. And isn't it what it is always about? Control? 

Speaking of – this moment is only seconds away turning awkward and although only _thinking_ about giving up this closeness is sending a deep ache through his body, he withdraws himself enough to give Cas some space. 

And enough to feel incredibly cold without the heat of the angel’s body. 

Oh, son of a bitch. It happened. He touched his inner walls and something he buried deep, deep down on the bottom of his own private pit took the chance to escape. Great. Just frigging great. 

He can nearly feel the stomping of this … this _thing_ , galloping closer and closer. 

Now it is just a matter of time when he will turn into a girl, sighing dramatically about body heat and timber and skin and mint and maybe he just drown himself so that— 

“Dean? Is everything okay?” A gravelly voice interrupts him concerned and for a second he is tempted to snap back a _‘Hush, can’t you see that I’m having a serious mental breakdown here?’_ but then again … no. 

“Yeah,” he answers instead and if his voice sounds an octave higher than usual it’s a coincidence. “Yeah, everything is just peachy. So, huh, where were we?” 

“In the bath room.” 

“Funny.” Dean rolls his eyes and before he can stop his mouth, he adds, “See, it only needed some serious fever for the area of your brain reserved for humor to be molten free! Why didn’t we try that much earlier?” 

If Dean expects a similar snarky comment, he is met with disappointment. All he receives is silence. Puzzled he lifts his head and stares directly in piercing blue eyes, watching him with an uninterpretable expression. 

Dean swallows and for one second he could swear, he saw a smile flit over Cas lips. 

“I am sorry, Dean,” the angel finally replies softly. “I think, I forgot what you done for me when I was feeling … unwell.” 

Dean snorts at that. _Unwell_. What an understatement. 

“Well,” he starts carefully, testing the terrain they are entering. “It was an intense experience for both of us.” 

The angel purses his lips and nods slowly. “Obviously.” Silence spreads uncomfortably in the tiny bathroom, thick like fog. 

When Dean can’t take it anymore, he clears his throat. “So”, he says slowly. “You gonna jump in or stand there for all eternity?” He gestures vaguely in the direction to the still steaming water. 

Cas frowns unhappy but nods eventually and before Dean can even blink, the angel rips his boxers down and stands bare ass naked in front of the shell-shocked hunter. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelps, throwing his arms up in the air in a desperate (and most of all: too late) attempt to cover his eyes. “Warn a guy before you free Willy!” 

“I have nothing you haven’t seen before” Cas simply states and warily dips a toe in the water. 

“But that doesn’t mean, I want to see it _again_!” Dean snorts and peeks through his fingers, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Dammit. Get in already!” 

Mumbling something about ‘insolent humans’ under his breath, Cas clumsily climbs into the tub and lowers his lean body in the hot water. It doesn’t take long, when he suddenly groans pleasantly. 

“Feels good, huh?” Dean teases him, letting his fingers finally slip down. He watches his friend, sees the lines of tension leaving his face and making room for a much needed relaxation. 

The angel only grunts as answer and tries to slide deeper in the water. 

“Don’t fall asleep, you hear me?” The hunter crouches down next to the tub, eyes fixated on Cas head. 

The angel grunts again and Dean chuckles silently, grabbing a cloth from the sink. “For someone fighting this here so vehemently, you really are enjoying it. Here, take this and start to clean yourself up. When you finished, call me. I help you get out. I wait outside.” 

He waits until he gets a nod of his friend before Dean leaves to take care of the bed. A warm bath only is the real fun if you can sink afterwards in clean, crisp sheets. 

It only takes some minutes to clean the room, change the linen and let some fresh air in. He even turns the bright overhead off and dips the room in the soft light of the bedside lamp. And damn it, if the shabby motel room doesn’t suddenly appear much more … homey. 

Dean stands in the middle of the room, content with his work, and allows the tension of the last days to bleed away from him. He did everything he could, gave everything he had, and now he finally came to the point where he just had to wait for Cas to finish his oh-so-hated bath to maybe catch up with some sleep. What a tempting thought. Sleep. He yawned loudly. 

Maybe he could – just for some moments – sit down? Or even ease the aches in his back and rest his head on this incredibly inviting looking pillow? 

His gaze darts to the bathroom door, but he can still hear water splashing and Cas’ pleased humming. The danger of Cas drowning seems minimal so finally Dean succumbs to his stiff muscles and plops heavily on the bed. Damn, this feels _good_. 

“S’nice,” mumbles Dean drowsily and suddenly his next conscious awareness is a warm body sliding on the sheets behind him. 

_To be continued ..._


	2. Iceberg Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wrote me, that it would be nice to separate the Story in two chapters. I'm a little obedient thing so - here you are! Smile gleefully ;o)))

“What—” he starts confused, his eyelids heavy as lead and feeling so utterly exhausted, that he needs more than just some seconds to notice he fell asleep the moment he touched the bed. 

“Shit!” he curses hoarsely, trying and failing to sit up, because he isn’t really sure which side is up. Adrenalin and a huge bad conscious pump in his veins, but his sluggish limbs and brain are working against each other and after some clumsy attempts he ends entangled in the sheet. With a frustrated huff he finally stills and pants, “Shit, Cas. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t aware that I’m _that_ tired. I just wanted to sit down a moment and—” 

“Stop apologizing or I smite you.” 

“What?” A bit confused Dean tries again to free himself of the linen, but apparently Cas is laying now on the other end so that he has no chance. A deep chuckle wavers through the room and Dean feels the fine hair on his neck raising. 

“You don’t have to apologize falling asleep after taking care of me for several days and nights,” Cas says softly and was it possibly, that his voice sounded … velvety? 

“Yeah, but my work would have been futile if you drown because of slipping or fainting or—” 

“I didn’t,” Cas huffs with a hint of amusement. “I also wasn’t abducted by demons, threatened by witches or sacrificed by Satanists.” 

Dean freezes. “Are you… are you shitting me?” 

“Maybe a bit.” Cas’ soft chuckle is directly wired to Deans heart, which changes into second gear and accelerates considerably. “But you are doing it again.” 

“Doing what? Trying to save your ass?” 

“Denying yourself something you obviously need.” 

Dean blinks several times and tries to come up with a witty remark, but the slight feeling of a second meaning hidden somewhere in the gravely spoken matter-of-fact statement settles heavy in his chest. 

“Cas, I…,” he starts hesitantly and without even knowing how to finish his sentence, but he has to break the meaningful silence before his brain comes up with interpretation possibilities neither of them would like. Thinking too much only leads to hidden realms of his soul which should better be left untouched. 

“You really are a man of words, are you?” sighs Cas and tugs forcefully at the sheet, bringing Dean with a yelp nearly to topple over the edge of the mattress, but grabs him just in time to prevent Dean from faceplanting the floor. 

“And again,” Dean starts a bit breathless, “ _warn_ a guy! But thanks for finally de-burritoing me. About time you…” The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when he turns his head and gets a glimpse of Castiel, who is watching him with a relaxed smirk. 

His still damp hair lies in dark, soft curls, framing his still pale face and giving his piercing blue eyes enough contrast to convey the impression that they are glowing. Obviously he took the time to shave and with every breath Cas takes, Dean can smell the faint scent of shaving cream and mint. 

A small smile darts over Deans lips and the angels rises a questioning eyebrow, but the hunter isn’t able to do anything else as to stare at Cas and be grateful. That his angel lies so relaxed beneath him. So _alive_. 

Warmth ignites in his chest, spreads through his utterly exhausted body and for a second he hears something deep inside him whispering that he should avert his gaze, turn around and pretend to go to sleep. But he can’t. He just can’t. 

Damn his weakened inner walls but he is simply not strong enough to relinquish this moment. Give up the sight of Castiel. Give up all the little imaginings which were usually stored nice and safely in a place where they couldn't do any harm. 

Cas silently returns his gaze, a strange, foreign shimmer in his eyes. For a second his brows knit together and Dean asks himself if Cas still can read his mind. But then again, maybe not only his inner walls are paper-thin currently. 

And then, as if Cas found a long-lost answer in this moment, he suddenly closes the distances between them and his strong arms wrap around Dean, engulfing him like molten iron. 

“Don’t do this. Not now. Please,” Cas whispers against Deans ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers over Deans skin. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dean returns hoarsely, starting a weak attempt to free himself but Cas won’t let him. 

“Oh yes, you do. I know you are hiding from yourself because you truly believe that everyone is so much worthier than you. That you are not allowed to be selfish. To desire.” 

“Cas, what—” 

“No, Dean. Just … no.” Cas shakes his head and Dean feels the motion against his own. “I don’t have my angelic patience at hand and can’t bear seeing you so … shattered. It usually takes all my willpower to not smite you to your senses, but in this form and especially after the last days I am not strong enough.” With that he withdraws himself just enough to look Dean straight in the eyes. “Don’t deny that my sickness utterly scared you. I know that it would have nearly destroyed me seeing _you_ suffering.” 

Dean breath catches in his throat and even with all his clothes on he suddenly feels exposed. Dazed. He is too exhausted to differentiate if he should be offended by Cas words or amazed. If the angel is right or suffering from delusions. Or is it Dean who is suffering here? Damn if he knew. 

“I am alive and so are you,” breathes Cas and tightens his grip around Dean for a second, ripping the hunter out of his storming mind. “You _are_ worthy. You _are_ cherished. And you definitely are allowed to _take_. Because if you don’t, one day you won’t have anything left to give.” 

Deans heart stumbles over the last words only to immediately beat faster and faster, drumming a _yes, yes, yes_ with every beat through his veins. God, he wants to believe Cas so desperately and fights at the same time so hard to keep his emotions at bay that he is shaking. 

“Stop torturing yourself.” Cas voice is nothing more than a breeze against his skin. And without asking for further permission, Castiel kisses his temple so softly the hunter would have nearly missed it. 

Dean swallows hard, his heart now pounding in his chest madly. He shouldn’t let this happen. Really, really shouldn’t, but his body defies control while his heart puts out an SOS, overflowing him with _need_ and reducing him to _want_. 

That’s exactly the reasons why some walls inside him were never meant to be touched. 

“You are thinking too loud,” a voice like chocolate melts in his ear. “For once in your life, trust someone, Dean. Trust _me_.” 

Deans heart misses a beat - again - and thousand objections are forming on his tongue. But before any of them can find a way to be pronounced, two hands start to slide over his shirt, soft pressure rubs the fabric over his sensitive skin. Warm breath touches his neck and sends a bazillion of shudders through his body. 

Against his will his eyelids fluttering closes and he feels electrified. Every single hair on his body seems to stick out and he is cold and incredibly hot at the same time. 

If something feels so good, it can’t be wrong. Can it? 

A deep, guttural moan escapes his throat when rough lips burn a kiss behind his ear, teeth nicking the sensitive skin and a tongue darts forwards, licking a trace of lava. Maybe he should be embarrassed for a sound like this, but to be honest – he can’t bring himself to care anymore. 

Castiel is right, once in his life he wants so be selfish. Wants to lose himself, give up the reins. Wants … _this_. 

As if Cas heard him, he presses closer, teases Deans throat with his velvety lips. “I got you,” he whispers breathless. “Let go.” 

And finally … Dean does. 

Every tension is leaving his body and his head falls back, exposing more of his vulnerable skin and the angel chuckles silently, pressing lazy kisses to his throat. 

Deans brain is sinking like the frigging Titanic, a red alert flashes before his eyes, and he's pretty sure he hears Celine Dion singing somewhere around him. 

And my, this whole Iceberg and Titanic picture gets a complete new level of meaning when Cas hip snaps forward and Dean feels a _not-so-little-Cas_ rubbing through several layers of fabric. 

Understatement of the year. 

_Jesus fucking Christ_ , Cas feels _huge_ through his boxer briefs and Deans Jeans. _Ooooh yeah._ That's definitely an iceberg that can bring his Titantic to sink. 

He was so involved in his private doom and gloom scenario, that he nearly missed the pertly hand on its mission to hit home base. 

Nearly. 

Deans eyes snaps open when he realizes in the nick of time how evil fingers opens the buttons of his jeans effortlessly before they vanish under the waistband of his boxerbriefs without any hesitation, slithering with sweet friction through his dark nest embedding the target. 

And then _… oh fucking yeah:_ You have arrived the final destination! 

Cas hand closes around Deans cheering cock and someone moans – _moans!_ – like a porn star. 

Oh ... it's him. 

Well, it's not his fault that his last brain cell drowned with a final salute. That his whole existence is reduced to the hand on the center of his body. 

"Cas," he gasps, begs, _pleas_ without even knowing what he is begging for, when the angel strikes the length of his shaft the first time with enough force to make a statement. 

_You are mine._

And yes, yes, YES. He is. 

"Cas," he moans again, trying to thrust in Cas' fist when the angel starts with lazy strokes. 

“So impatient,” Cas whispers, but his fingers nevertheless gain pace. Add pressure where it is needed, finding a steady, relentless rhythm. 

It feels amazing. 

All Dean can do is gasping. Shuddering. Groaning. Thrusting. Sweat runs down his temple, his chest and back. He feels slick and dirty, but at the same time incredibly … _free_. 

Strange wet noises echoes in the rhythm of Cas strokes through their motel room, answered by grunts and hisses. A heavy, musky scent wavers in the air. 

This tension, it is nearly too much for Dean and at the same time he wishes it would never end. His body shakes uncontrollably and he hears himself whisper “Fuck, yes” and “Faster” and “Harder”. 

God, he needs to explode. Urgently. The breaking of the dams brought a flood of _pressure_ with it and he feels like a frigging atom bomb, desperate for release. 

"You like that, hm?" the angel eventually answers his eloquent stammering, his voice hoarse and jerky an oh so warm in Deans ear. "I want to hear you. Come on, Dean. Yell for me. Let it all out!" 

He presses a bit harder on the soft flesh, whirls his wrist and glides his thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the precome. 

Dean buckles and then … well, yeah … he yells. Like a wolf. Like a very needy and very croaky wolf. 

Cas rewards him with a hot, wet kiss on his neck. He sucks Deans skin between his lips, sinks his teeth in it, bruising it, and then calms the seducing pain with his tongue while grinding his bulge against Deans ass. 

Like a threat. Like a _promise_ the hunter would love to redeem immediately, but he knows that Cas isn't strong enough for some serious business right now. 

Could anyone please tell this Deans hips? They developed an independent existence and make obscene movements against Cas' flesh, rub and roll like there wasn't any fabric at all and the angel was already buried deep inside him. 

A shudder runs over his body over this imagination and his dick hardens to a level he never held possible. 

" _Fuck_ , Dean," Cas growls and his hand jerks the hunter in a brutal pace. And then with a deep voice, lust bleeding in every syllable: "Come for me!" 

He swirls his wrist a last time with a final, hard stroke and that's it. 

The waves of the looming orgasm clash over him, carry him with a breathtaking force away. 

Dean loses time and space while he cries out loud, gasps, rears up. Flashes ignite around him and he feels his cock spurting thick white lines over the former clean sheets. 

And yeah, now _Dean_ is crying like frigging Celine Dion while Cas still let his hand slide up and down, milking the last drop out of him until the hunter can't take the touch anymore. 

"Cas … aaah … Cas … too much … _hurts_ ," he manages to groan and tries half-heartedly to slide away, but the angel is still holding him in a tight embrace, a deep, denying growl the only answer before he finally releases Deans cock. 

Dean shuddering exhales, feeling a chill creeping up his body where the sweaty skin is exposed to the air. He snuggles closer to Cas, seeking his warmth and maybe, just maybe, even a little bit more. 

Holy shit. This was … this was … there wasn’t a word to describe what Dean feels in this second. But maybe his brain is just too exhausted to provide him with an appropriate vocabulary. 

Man, he is spent beyond any description. But then again … was there any obligation to return this, uhm, _favor_ to Cas? He is so tired but what would happen, when he lets his eyes slip close. Or more precisely: What would happen when he _opened_ them again? Would he be able to look the angel in the eye? What if Cas decided this had been a mistake? 

“You are thinking too loud again,” Castiel murmurs suddenly close to his ear, startling him and soothing the voices in Deans head. “Sleep, my fearless hunter. You need to rest and before you freak out on me: I will be here when you wake up again. And I will most certainly feel stronger when you do so.” 

Dean smiles weakly and with a long, last sigh he finally allows himself to slip into Morpheus awaiting arms. 


End file.
